


A Brief Farewell

by Neigedens



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Detective Noir, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neigedens/pseuds/Neigedens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a well-known fact that dead men are heavier than broken hearts, but a high-blooded troll chopped up into pieces and stuffed in a heavy grubhide suitcase presents an even bigger problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief Farewell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [signalbeam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/signalbeam/gifts).



After you get rid of the body, you don't think much of it. This is not because it's something you typically do. You are not putting up some sort of jaded tough guy act for this. You simply did the most practical thing, which was to take the body down to the river and dump it.

The river is filthy, which nobody minds besides the people who live by it, who of course don't count. The water runs down to a sopor factory, where the chemical process used to manufacture sopor slime should degrade the body enough to make it even more unrecognizable than it already is. The chemicals might even turn the corpse's bright troll blood to that same muddy color that is the color of all humans' and carapacians' blood once it dries.

Either way, it should do the trick. No one will know where the corpse came from, what its blood color is. With any luck they won't even be able to tell if it's a human or a troll. You try and count yourself lucky.

This is hard to do, though. It's hard to count yourself lucky as you walk through the street as the sun is setting.

Troll Raymond Chandler had a way of describing the city on evenings like this. He might have said something about it that was suitably evocative, about the red miasma that hangs over your average Alternian cityscape at twilight, when the heavy daytime heat has finally dissipated, and the sun's rays are almost completely gone, when the carapacians emerge, along with all your fellow trolls. 

You wouldn't know, though. Personally, Troll Raymond Chandler never smelled like much to you, neither him nor his human counterpart, called, amusingly enough, just plain old Raymond Chandler. You are certainly not in the mood for it after you return to your office.

That's what Dave wants to talk about, however. Dave is the proprietor of the soda fountain below your office, and he is surprised that you have not even a cursory interest in this sort of literature. "I thought that was the kind of thing you were going for," he says after he brings you your shake. 

"Going for?" you ask, and can't help but notice how he winces at the slurping sound you make at the end of your strawberry milkshake.

"Like what you were trying to emulate," he says.

"No," you say. "I'm not trying to emulate anything."

"Well what are you trying to do then?" he asks, leaning over the counter. 

The nighttime rush hasn't started yet and he obviously wants to chat. He hasn't picked up yet that you don't feel like chatting. Still, you make an effort. "I'm...trying to supplement the existing troll justice system with my own particular brand of expertise."

"I thought you told me once," Dave says, "that 'troll justice system' is an oxymoron."

You wince at that one. Given the duty you have just discharged, it almost stings. Almost. Dave doesn't notice, probably because Dave would never guess what you just got back from doing. Not because he wouldn't believe you're capable of it, but because the possibility wouldn't even enter his mind. "That is a very funny joke," you say. "Probably you heard that from your sister, and mistook it for being said by yours truly."

"Yeah, maybe," says Dave, and you can tell he's rolling his eyes behind the dark lenses he wears. By now he's for sure noticed something's up from your demeanor. "You guys are so alike, after all." 

You finish your milkshake and take out your money to pay him. "Another funny joke!"

"Is something wrong?" he finally asks. 

"Not a thing," you say, glad that he didn't ask the question until after you finished drinking your breakfast. You escape back up to your office to deal with the bloodstains.

~

 

The first time you met Kanaya Maryam in person was in much the same conditions, in fact. You were sitting at the bar talking to Dave, cross-examining him and subtly annoying him by slurping your milkshake through the straw.

Dave and his sister are functionally your landlords. They rent your office out to you and sell you milkshakes at the soda fountain in the lower half. Technically, though, the owner of the building is their carapacian friend, who everyone calls the Mayor. The title is a human honorific neither you nor the mayor himself have ever grasped the full significance of.

The building, like most in the neighborhood, was built by humans. It's built from the same material a normal hive is, but it looks much different. Even a tiny building like this one has always looked odd to you, since it's built straight up and down and paneled with wood.

This kind of real estate is mostly owned by aliens like Dave, Rose, and the mayor, since adult trolls spend most of their lives off-world and younger trolls like you are expected to join them soon enough.

Traditionally, anyway. Nowadays, the husks of the Alternian cities are filled with aliens who were once conquered subjects. Presumably they still *are* conquered subjects, but communication with the empire has been spotty over the last few decades. The aliens do what they please and young trolls like you just kind of...coexist.

Sort of. That's the problem, and the reason you took up the line of work that you did. Alternia, and the cities especially, are hotbeds of crime and abuse. You have been kept busy in your toil as private investigator, though of course it's not the most lucrative line of work.

Because of your work, you know a lot about your neighbors, but you didn't know about Kanaya until she walked through the front door of the soda fountain.

Even though you had never met her before, you knew who she was. Jadebloods are rare enough, and Kanaya herself has always been singular enough, that you recognize her scent instantly. It's possible that at some point when you were six sweeps old you sniffed her picture from a husktop screen, but you preferred to think that you just recognized her from her scent, from her intrinsic essence of Kanaya alone.

She was surprised. By that time, few things surprised you, but she remained frozen in the doorway for a second, not even hearing Dave's greeting.

"Rose isn't here," he told her. "I think she's upstairs with the mayor. Maybe. Who knows where the hell she gets to these days, right?"

"Um," said Kanaya. One single 'um' that sounded more like an observation than a meaningless filler word.

"Oh," said Dave. "You know each other." You were cocking your head in Kanaya's direction, your straw still clenched between your teeth, and she just stood there in shock. Dave hesitated. "Uh. Should I--"

"You should go get Rose," you told him pleasantly. "Leave us a second to catch up. If anyone else comes I'll tell them you'll be back shortly."

"Oh." He looked at Kanaya, obviously unsure if he should leave her be, or maybe unsure if you should be left with her, but in the end he went upstairs and you grinned.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, taking a step through the door and closing it finally. The door, like most of the building itself, is also made of wood and utterly bizarre.

"I work here," you said.

"But. Why." More a statement than a question still, but she was unthawing somewhat at least. "You were supposed to join the legislacerators and go off-planet. Weren't you?"

You executed the rest of your milkshake with one final slurp. "I didn't."

You were stalling. You were trying to seem calm, to seem as if you were enjoying the situation like you did as a wriggler. You smelled the alarm in the air and couldn't tell if it was yours or hers. You shouldn't have been surprised to meet her again, but you honestly never considered what you'd say if you ran into someone you grew up with.

"I work upstairs," you finally said. "Not as a soda jerk, though. That's what the humans call the person who dispenses the drinks."

Kanaya blinked. "Oh. Yes."

"Anyway. They wouldn't trust me with food service, so I decided to go into freelance legislaceration work instead."

"Freelance." Again. Still a statement ripe with stupefaction.

"Yes. In this case, it's a descriptor as well as a reference to the ancient weapon incidentally used by the very first vigilanterrorists, who of course were the precursors to the current system once they allied themselves with the Condesce and His Tyranny."

Kanaya finally sank into the stool next to you, still shaken. "Are you saying you're a vigilanterrorist?"

"Oh, no. I mean. Not officially. I don't carry a lance, obviously. Not my thing, as you'll remember."

Kanaya stared.

"Oh come *on*," you said. "You've got no right to give me that look. Even if I'm the vigilanterrorist, what exactly are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're the troll Rose is human-dating, right?"

Kanaya's eyes got so wide you could smell the yellow glare of her corneas. "How—what? How did you know that?"

"I'm in the detective line," you said, shrugging. "I would know, wouldn't I?" Some detective you are, since discovering Kanaya again shocked you so badly. A very disappointing and anti-climactic conclusion to the Rose's Secret Troll Lover mystery.

"Oh. Right." You could smell her cheeks warming up as she looked down. "Well. Yes. She didn't mention you."

"No," you said, and for the first time a smiled stretched across your features. "I suppose she wouldn't."  
There was a pause wherein you walked around the bar to rinse your glass and Kanaya sat there, staring at her hands on the counter.

"So," you began, "since I told you why I'm still on-planet. Maybe you could tell me why you're not 60 feet under right now."

She looked up. "You mean why am I not training in the wriggling chambers. To care for the Mother Grub."

"I only ask," you said, "because I recall that being your stated goal. Back when we were wrigglers."

"Well. It was. It is."

"You should come up to my office," you say. "Since Rose isn't here."

Kanaya agreed—maybe a little too easily. Still, it was nice to see her, despite the awkwardness. Most of the trolls you deal with are not as favorably disposed to you as Kanaya is.

Upstairs, you let her sit down in the chair in front of your desk, but she didn't stay there long. She got up and started pacing as you poured out drinks.

"You don't have to be so nervous, you know," you said. "You're not the only person who's torn between their duty as a good troll and...other things." Other things in this case possibly being Rose, but you knew then and now not to discount the depths of Kanaya's oddness. 

Kanaya looked worried, inattentive, which was maybe why when she took a sip of the drink you gave her, she coughed it right back up. "Is this *Faygo*? Since when do you drink Faygo?"

"How do you know what Faygo tastes like?"

She looked up at you sharply. "I could ask the same of you. You're not going around with subjugglators."

"Are *you*?"

Kanaya sighed and walked over to the window, setting her drink down on the pane and forgetting about it for the rest of the interview. "You must know about that, then."

"Know about what? The only reason I have Faygo is because the mayor really likes Moon Mist."

A lot of the words in that sentence probably made no sense to her at all, but for once she didn't pick at it. Instead she closed her eyes, sighed, and explained. "A few blocks from here. There's a halfway hive for jadeblooded trolls. It's where we're supposed to train until there's an opening in the wriggling caverns."

You sat down behind your desk. "And the subjugglators..."

"...Are there to make sure the training runs smoothly."

You nodded. She wasn't telling you anything new. It was common knowledge around here that subjugglators and other highbloods becoming interested in what they called "the advancement of the species." They were getting nervous because communication with the empire had been spotty over the last couple decades, and given the fact that carapacians and especially humans' numbers are always increasing, now is the perfect time for the highbloods to get concern about their own dwindling numbers.

Of course, it seems a bit silly to you. A bit like closing the livestock containment hive after the musclebeasts have gotten out, but subjugglators aren't known for their grasp of the subtle tactic.

"So do you live in the halfway hive?" you finally asked.

"I'm supposed to be," she said, still looking out the window. "Officially."

"But you're not."

No response.

"Maybe you're frightened," you offer. "Frightened of taking your place and possibly falling under the wrath of the subjugglators."

She rolled her eyes so obviously you would have been able to sense it from downstairs. "That's obviously something I do not care about at all."

You paused. You waited for it.

"It's because," she finally began, "Humans...don't really understand troll matters like this. They really don't."

You finally smiled. "Rose wouldn't understand why you need to chop a clown in half to get away from indentured servitude in a halfway hive? I don't think you're giving her enough credit."

Kanaya narrowed her eyes, glared at you. To your surprise, you had stumbled upon a sore point.

She left shortly thereafter. Before she did, though, she told you that she wasn't living in the halfway hive.

"Not yet, anyway," she said grimly, before leaving. "Nice to see you again."

You didn't see her much over the next few perigees. When you did, though, it was always in the soda fountain, and usually in the middle of the day, when most trolls aren't out.

You and Kanaya are exceptions, of course. You don't have eyes that are sensitive to light (hell, you don't have eyes that are sensitive to *anything*,) and Kanaya has always been a diurnal weirdo. That was one of the things you remember about her most.

It's strange that you two started befriending each other, now of all times, when you habitually don't have much to say to each other. You talk about the work you do sometimes, but rehashing it usually depresses you too much, depresses you in a way that feels alien and cold to your own disposition.

And of course, Kanaya couldn't talk about her own work, and when she did, it usually didn't go over well.

"I've argued about this with Rose before as well," she said one afternoon, right before you were about to leave the office and return to your own hive. "Trolls need to have the Mother Grub structure or there's no chance of the species surviving beyond a few generations." She took a sip of her drink, and then suddenly downed the whole thing. "Of course, the fact that the entire reproduction infrastructure has been overtaken by psychotic murderclowns who believe in a ridiculous fake religion is a bump in the road. Only minor. Of course."

You cocked your head to one side, trying to determine her tone through the way she was breathing, the way she played with the straw to her drink and tapped her foot on the stool, because you weren't getting anything from her tone. She was speaking in that deadened sarcastic voice that you'd heard Rose use sometimes, with a weird hysterical twist on the end of it. "It confuses me."

"What does?"

"You. Your whole situation. If you think it's wrong, which it is, get out of it. Because you'll have to leave someday."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"You're disgusted by everything surrounding that halfway hive. I can smell it on you."

"Charming."

"So you either leave now, while you can," you pressed on, "or leave later when you don't have any choice."

You never are sure which option she took, even after everything's over.

~

Your hive, unlike the soda fountain and your office, is in the older part of the city, with the chitinous architecture more typical of trolls. It belonged to your old partner, a long time ago.

It's at the top of a long winding path of steps. You like it because it reminds you of your tree where you grew up, and you dislike it because of everything else it reminds you of.

She apparently braved all the steps with her heavy burden. You're not sure you could have managed it, but there she was, on your doorstep right before you were about to climb into your recuperacoon.

The burden in question was a grubhide suitcase, about as big as it was possible for a suitcase to be and not be considered a steamer trunk. The blood on the outside was dried and in the harsh Alternian noonlight probably didn't like anything more than a smudge of dirt or ash. To you, though, it was as subtle as a punch to the face, and would have been even without the scent of the body from the suitcase's interior.

After the requisite shocked pause, you stepped aside to let her in. She entered wordlessly and set the suitcase by the stairs, carefully setting it on its side so the dark stain on the side wouldn't touch your carpet.

"He won't be missed," she said. "Not if there's no body."

"That's a little short-sighted, I think."

"Maybe. I don't really have time to care."

"I think you should step into the food prep block," you began, speaking much more slowly than normal. "I think I should get you something to drink."

"I don't want any of your damn Faygo, Terezi," she snapped. "I want your help. Can you help me or not?"

The words hung in the air for a few seconds before she let out a large sigh.

"I haven't slept," she said.

"I can tell."

"I'll take the drink," she said, but then reluctantly followed you into the other room, as if the suitcase was a small creature whose welfare she was worried over.

"What happened?"

She was tapping her nails--which she still paints, even now that she's not six sweeps old anymore-- on the table as you put the cup of coffee in front of her. "I always wondered why they call it a halfway hive. Halfway to what?"

You paused, taking her in for a minute, before answering. "It's a traditional term. For a place where troll convicts are placed when they've escaped culling and are ready to be integrated back into society." You take a sip of your own coffee. "A somewhat archaic term."

"I think it's supposed to be a joke, then," she said with a shudder.

"You think?"

"None of their jokes are very funny in the first place."

More silence. Finally, the reality of what happened sank in enough that you could ask about logistics. 

"Do you need help skipping town? Money or papers or--"

"No. Just the body." You nodded. "You were the only person I could think of who--"

"No need for apologies," you said decisively. "It's the sort of thing I'm known for." For better or worse. They can say what they will about you, but you *do* know your way around a body.

At that point you finally decided to open the suitcase and see what's there.

The dead man was short, which was lucky for Kanaya. Even dismembered, the clown is a tight fit in the suitcase. In your nose's expert opinion, the jagged slash to the throat was the cause of death. The rest of his limbs were severed after death. Something about the blood smells different when it's spilled post mortem.

"Did you go at him with an axe?"

"A chainsaw."

You raise an eyebrow. "Didn't that raise any suspicions from your neighbors?"

"Neighbors in a halfway hive are not particularly keen on suspicions," she said. She looked at the body, not with regret or sadness or even disgust, with nothing but simple malice.

You closed the suitcase, so the sweet scent of his blood wasn't offending your nostrils. "I think I can take care of it." You stood up, wiped a speck of blood off your hands onto your pants. You could change later, after everything was finished. 

She was standing by the door, hesitating just like she did the first time you saw her in the flesh. "About payment--"

"Forget it," you said. "Call it a perk."

She nodded, and finally went out the door. You listed to her footsteps going down the many stairs before you finally picked up the suitcase for yourself. It was heavy, maybe too heavy for you to handle on your own, but you knew you'd be fine. The way to the river is downhill all the way.


End file.
